


Aliens Made them... Hula Hoop

by Epiphanyx7



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alien Cultural Differences, Alien Planet, Aliens Make Them Do It, Crack, M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-10-09
Updated: 2007-10-09
Packaged: 2017-11-01 01:08:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/350305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Epiphanyx7/pseuds/Epiphanyx7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Come on, Colonel McSlinky, just join their hula-hooping contest and let the nice aliens see how much we <i>value their customs</i>.” </p>
            </blockquote>





	Aliens Made them... Hula Hoop

**Author's Note:**

> God, what the hell was I thinking? But yes. Welcome to the Pegasus galaxy, people. *sigh*

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard stares, horrified, at the object being held out to him.

“This is a rather… unusual tradition.” Teyla says in her usual, ‘our-peoples-differ-in-this-custom’ voice.

“How does it work?” Ronon asks.

“For the love of god, Sheppard, it’s just a hula-hoop!” Rodney McKay, renowned astrophysicist and self-proclaimed Smartest Man in Two Galaxies snaps. “Seriously, the nice aliens just want you to play with them.”

“This is seriously messed up.” Sheppard tells him, putting on his aviator sunglasses because he did not want anybody to see the slightly crazed look in his eyes. There weren’t supposed to be hula-hoops in the Pegasus Galaxy, dammit.

McKay shrugs.

“It is our highest honour, to participate in the rite of Sh’may’ta.” The priest explains. “In this way we will determine if our gods deem you worthy of our continued alliance.”

“So…” John is finding this very, very difficult to compute.

“I’m sure that the people of Omar would gladly extend our friendship to your people of Atlantis.” The priest continues blithely, “without regards to the outcome of this ceremony. However, without at least a token of your respect for our beliefs, there will be no trade between our two peoples.”

“John, do you understand how this device is to be manipulated?” Teyla asks slowly.

“Of course he does! Come on, Colonel McSlinky, just join their hula-hooping contest and let the nice aliens see how much we _value their customs_.” Only McKay could put that much sarcasm into one sentence, but he’s backing it up with a glare that is clearly saying _Obey Me Or Die._

“But, Raaawdneeey.” John can’t possibly express his horror. He hates hula-hoops almost as much as he loves Ferris Wheels.

“Are you kidding me?” McKay sighs and turns to the priest. “I’ll do it.”

“WHAT?” John yells.

Teyla looks curious. 

“Mini _ZedPMs_ , Colonel. They are practically offering Teyla a pair of _mini-ZedPMs_ to use as _earrings_. That is more than worth ten minutes of hula-hooping!” McKay replies calmly.

John wonders if it’s possible for the Omari to actually be offended by one person’s hula-hooping. If it’s possible, McKay’s the one to do it.

*

Somehow, three minutes into the competition, John is gritting his teeth and sweat is running down the back of his neck, tickling and itching and oh my god, he hates hula-hoops so very, very much.

Ronon’s not doing too badly, though, and Teyla seems entirely comfortable with it, doing a full-body twisting motion that is incredibly sensual. John has avoided looking at Rodney because he’s concentrating very hard on not letting the hula-hoop slide off of his hips – this is much more difficult than it looks.

The Omari are practically going nuts cheering, though. Some of theprofessional – and god, John really can’t get his head around the fact that they have professional hula-hoopers, like this is actually a sport – Omari are doing some pretty cool tricks, one woman is actually using three at once, all different weights so they spin at different speeds.

John hates life, so much.

*

At least it isn’t like that one time, on M2K-914, where the alien priestess wanted Teyla to do the equivalent of a full-on striptease in exchange for the rights to discuss diplomatic relations. John had to – regretfully – decline respectfully and beat it to the gate before they decided to take offense.

Or that time on M2K-817, when the cultural token of friendship was nothing more than sharing a ceremonial drink. That wouldn’t have been too bad, except it was ceremonial lemonade, and Rodney had gone into anaphylactic shock and after John stabbed him in the thigh with his epi-pen, Rodney had thrown up on the chief’s daughter as she attempted to care for him. Strangely enough, instead of causing offense, that seemed to make her his honorary wife, and John had only managed to extract Rodney from her (caring, and very, very strong) arms by telling her that he required medical attention immediately or he might die regardless. This was technically true, as Rodney had a history of biphasic reactions.

It wasn’t anywhere at bad as M2K-629. That was the planet where apparently women were not permitted to speak, long hair was indicative of a slave class, and there was no such thing as ‘scholars’ or ‘scientists’. John had been the only person in his team to not cause offense within ten minutes, and they spent the remaining 3 hours on the planet fighting for their lives.

*

“This isn’t a goddamn ritual.” John hisses through his clenched teeth. “This is a fucking marathon.”

“Test of endurance, Colonel.” Ronon says, eating something that looks suspiciously like a nectarine. 

John hates him, because Ronon managed to stumble and break his hoop sometime around minute eight, and was disqualified. John has had no such luck.

Teyla is humming something. John sneaks a look at her and immediately regrets it. It’s only been eleven minutes, but she’s covered in a thin sheen of sweat, arms raised above her head, hair damp and curling a little bit, clinging to hear head, and a totally blissed-out look on her face. He almost drops his damn hula-hoop, but recovers at the last second and then remembers that he wants to be disqualified from this torture.

*

On M2K-836, the aliens had decorated them with tar and feathers, and then made them sit on ceremonial Chairs of Good Posture until the sun set.

*

Sixteen minutes in, Teyla gracefully steps off of the stage – and John really, really hates that he’s still on stage – and joins Ronon on their freakin’ pavilion with the fruit and the water – John really, really wants water.

It’s got to be at least a hundred and two degrees outside, hot and dry and the heat is rising off the ground in waves. John’s soaked in sweat, now, and he feels absolutely disgusting. The hula-hooping is taking up all of his concentration. He doesn’t know how the hell McKay has managed to stay in the competition this long, but then again, he’s probably had to hula-hoop at least once before in his lifetime, as he’s from Earth. Simple test of endurance, my ass. He swears at himself, concentrating on the slide of the pseudo-plastic hoop over his hips. Around and around and around…

*

On M2K-W98, their idea of a ‘test of endurance’ was more of ‘tie you to a pole and throw rocks at you until you lose consciousness’. Ronon was the last one to lose consciousness. He apparently is still hailed as a god on that backwater hellhole.

M2K-643 was the planet of the scary Amazon women who had glared at all of them, bowed politely to Teyla, and then leered and offered John 300 _wert_ if they could borrow McKay for two days. Two days later, McKay insisted that John owed him 300 _wert_ , but he’d already spent it on food for Atlantis.

*

It’s been almost forty minutes. John is ready to collapse. Even the professional Omari hula-hoopers are looking beat, they’ve all stopped their showy tricks and are just sticking to the basics, like John. Around and around and around, twisting the hips just so, breathing carefully and maintaining balance. Around and around and around.

Rodney is still in the competition. John is tempted to turn his head and look, but he is concentrating on keeping the damn hula-hoop up. He would just give up and let it fall, but he’s got too much pride to just throw the competition like this.

Plus, there are only twelve other contestants remaining, and the priest had practically promised a fully-charged ZPM if one of the Atlantis team placed eighth or higher in the competition.

*

Minute forty-six, eleven other contestants remaining, and John falters, the hula hoop sliding dangerously low, and John knows it’s gone, he’s lost, and then some strange anomaly twists it back a little higher, and he is very aware of the fact that his hips are doing something incredibly lewd, but it gets the damn hula-hoop back where it ought to be, even if he’s now facing forty degrees to the left.

Which puts Rodney not directly in his line of vision, but he doesn’t have to twist his neck quite as far to see him.

And John is completely, totally, and mind-bogglingly shocked, because Rodney isn’t even paying attention.

He’s holding his data pad with one hand, balanced on the crook of his elbow, iPod secured to the top right-hand corner. And John can’t even breathe, because Rodney is just standing there, his hips moving in a way that seems precisely calculated to do the maximum amount work with the least amount of energy expenditure – John wouldn’t be surprised if he was running the simulations on the data pad and modifying his movement to match – and he’s not paying attention at all.

John nearly fumbles his hula-hoop, but luckily recovers quickly, and he goes back to staring at Rodney.

Rodney is happily tapping away at the screen on his data pad, humming to himself quietly with the headphones from his iPod inserted into his ear, seemingly oblivious to the fact that his hips are moving steadily, keeping the hula-hoop in the air.

*

Minute fifty-eight, and there are nine contestants left in the competition besides John and Rodney. John really, really wants to quit, because he’s dying of thirst and the sun is starting to set but it isn’t getting any cooler, it seems to actually be warming up, and he’s practically gasping for air. His mouth is dry, parched, and he can’t help but watch Rodney and lick his chapped lips one more time.

Rodney really isn’t concentrating at all. He looks up from his data pad, grins at John, and then takes one of the earpieces out to stage-whisper to his teammate: “Hey, Sheppard, I think I figured out how to pry another 6% out of the naquadah generators! Zelenka is going to be _so jealous_.” 

John blinks sweat out of his eyes and hates the world. All worlds.

*

Minute one seventy-three, and John is relaxing on the pavilion with Ronon and Teyla, eating something distinctly grape-like and drinking water flavored liberally with something minty. It’s cool, it’s refreshing, it’s served with ice cubes, and Rodney is still on stage, moving his hips with an almost hypnotic grace. He’s one of the two contestants on the stage.

John remembers the moment that Rodney gave him the data pad, asking him to put it back in his pack. The scientist had turned to him, on the stage, and walked forward, actually _walked_ without disturbing the rhythm of his hoop, and tossed him the data pad as if it were nothing. John had caught it, because his reflexes were good, and stared at him for almost a minute before the officials shooed him offstage, wrapping a nice 8 th place ribbon around his wrist (it was pink. John didn’t know if he ought tobe offended or not) and giving him a small glass of water to quench his thirst.

That was at minute eighty-two. 91 minutes later and John still can’t catch his breath, because Rodney is just rolling his hips, fluidly, as if this is no more difficult for him than breathing.

“I was not aware that Doctor McKay was so…” Teyla seems at a loss for words.

Ronon glances around at the faces of the Omari in the audience. “Yeah. The women here agree with you, I think, Teyla.”

John agrees, too.

*

The competition ends with a blur of officials comparing notes and scores, and then finally declaring Rodney the winner. The priest is impressed, the Omari are practically screaming with joy, and Rodney is delayed from joining them for another thirty minutesbecause he has to sign autographs and give hugs to his fans.

He finally stumbles in and collapses onto a couch-thing beside Teyla. “Oh, my god, is that food? Gimme. Non-citrus, right?” He pulls out his epi-pen and bites into the fruit without waiting for a reply. “Oh my god, yes.” He moans around the almost-nectarine.

John is finding his BDUs uncomfortably tight. “Hey, McKay, what’s with the…” he gestures vaguely. 

“Oh, what? I actually think it’s ten percent, not six. I refined the calculations a few times and I think I can avoid some of the energy being converted to heat…” Rodney slurps the rest of the nectarine and grabs another. “God, these things are good. I’m so thirsty, what is that?” He grabs the mint-water from the table and takes a sip. “Mmm.” 

*

When they finally leave the Omari behind, they all have white participants’ ribbons wound around their right wrists. John also has his pink 8th place ribbon around his left wrist, and Rodney has three ribbons around his left wrist – one black, one gold, and one red. 

“We’re fine, hula-hooping competition.” John explains when they enter the gate room. The marines look shocked and stare hopefully at Teyla, who has brought hers back to Atlantis. Rodney is hugging his ZedPM to his chest, crooning softly to it. 

“No torches? No spears? No rioting natives?” Doctor Keller asks duitifully.

“Hula-hoops.” John clarifies.

“We have established a trade agreement.” Teyla tells Elizabeth, placing a mini ZPM on the conference table. “The people of Omar are very grateful that we respect their culture and participated in their ceremony with them. They believe that their gods highly favour any relation between our peoples, and are willing to be our allies. I have promised them that we will trade some of the Athosian Pali in exchange for some of their food products. They also indicated that they would not be adverse to sharing some of their medicines with us.”

Elizabeth smiles at Teyla, and then smiles at the mini ZPMs, which are each adorned by a post-it note saying "Fully Charged" in Rodney's handwriting.

After he finishes debriefing, John excuses himself, because he really, really wants to go to his room and jerk off before he forgets what Rodney looks like, sweaty and glistening, hips thrusting like he could do it _forever_.

*


End file.
